


i've got a plan; i've got an atlas in my hands

by earlharlans



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: (author is american btw so if i messed up any british words or something then i'm sorry), (i feel the need to add that to every tma fic i write it's an anxiety & paranoia thing xoxo), (never explicitly stated but every martin i write is trans and you deserve to know), (since we know what happens afterwards), Bittersweet Ending, Canon Asexual Character, Canon-Typical Stuttering, First Kiss, Fluff, Love Confessions, M/M, No beta we kayak like Tim, Pining, Tea as a love language, Trans Martin Blackwood, guys this is just tender, pov martin (third person limited tho), spoilers up through the end of s3, t-rating is for minor swearing and discussions of death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-12
Updated: 2020-07-12
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:08:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25226575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/earlharlans/pseuds/earlharlans
Summary: There was more than enough on his plate for him to be worrying about. His own job, if Melanie would be okay, not to mention the others attempting to stop the ritual, and the phone call he had gotten that morning about his mother’s condition, and yet—Martin was still thinking about him.or: if jon and martin had confessed their feelings right before attempting to stop the unknowing.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 10
Kudos: 144





	i've got a plan; i've got an atlas in my hands

**Author's Note:**

> some quick content warnings: talk of death and mortality/the end of the world, stuttering, mentions of martin's mother and her illness (very brief tho), fire mention? this is mostly just very dramatic tenderness though so dw too much

In a past life, maybe they would have considered midnight to be late. Even the thought of it now brings a bittersweet laugh bubbling up in Martin’s chest. Late-night hours mean nothing when you are plagued by a constant state of tiredness. Staying up past your bedtime means nothing when the world is at stake.

Martin could have gone home a long time ago. They had covered his role in the plan several times, and there was hardly a reason for him to linger. Tim had even looked him in the eye, with a sharpness that was never there before, and patted his shoulder. _“Go home, Martin,”_ he had said. _“Get some rest; You need it.”_ There was a hint of sincerity underneath how deadpan it was.

Martin had pondered it, sure, but what good would it do him? All he would wind up doing is tossing and turning for six hours, suffocating in the silence of his bedroom. Whatever bone-aching fatigue he harbored before had been killed by his adrenaline. Even as he waited for the kettle to reach a boil, he couldn’t help but pace the floor of the Archive’s limited kitchen. After tomorrow, everything would be different, regardless of whether or not they succeeded. There was more than enough on his plate for him to be worrying about. His own job, if Melanie would be okay, not to mention the others attempting to stop the ritual, and the phone call he had gotten that morning about his mother’s condition, and yet—

Martin was still thinking about him.

He buried his face into his hands. The kettle began to shriek at him, and for a moment, he found it hard to muster up the energy to stop it. He did eventually take it off the heat, however. After that, the act of making tea had become muscle memory. He took down two mugs: one a simple forest green with an intricate handle, and the other a creamy white, with designs of cottages and animals on it. The time it took for the tea to steep gave him more time to pace in an attempt to collect his thoughts.

It was a funny thing, wasn’t it? The whole world might end, and yet, the thing Martin was most worried about was one person. In a way, Martin supposed, Jon was his world. That thought was enough to draw a chuckle from him as he shook his head. It was more than just cheesy—it was bloody pathetic. If he had known all those years ago that a petty crush would be a slippery slope into this, well, perhaps he would have found another job. That might have been the only way to avoid the feelings that had grown in his chest as time went on.

His hands clenched the edge of the kitchen counter tight enough to make his knuckles turn white. He needed Jon to be okay. There were no better words to describe it. He just _needed_ it, so badly it made his heart clench.

The timer on his phone went off just as the fluorescent light overhead flickered. He dumped the used tea bags in the bin underneath the sink. Put three sugars in Jon’s tea, and a splash of milk in his own. It was so easy, and so simple, that it made him yearn for the rest of their lives to be as simple as this. In another world, perhaps he could make Jon tea like this every morning. They would be safe in that world, and—sure, if Martin was already entertaining impossible fantasies—Jon would feel the same way Martin did about him.

The two of them were stuck in this world, however, and Jon might die tomorrow without knowing about any of it.

No, he had to at least know, right? Maybe it was recorded on some tape or another, or maybe it was just blatantly obvious, but Jon must know. Thus, the reason he had not acted on it was that he didn’t feel the same, of course he didn’t. Martin wasn’t that stupid.

Martin took a shaky breath before grabbing both mugs and heading towards Jon’s office. It was not a question of whether or not Jon was awake. At this point, it was a question of whether or not he would actually answer when Martin knocked.

There was a brief moment of silence. Martin’s lungs became tight. Jon did answer, though.

“Come in, Martin.”

Martin chose not to think about how Jon automatically knew it was him (or, Knew?). He adjusted the mugs in his hand and, somehow, managed to open the door.

“Thought you might want something to help soften the edges,” he said, holding up the green mug. “Sometimes, it’s just comforting to be holding a hot drink, you know?”

He set the mug on the edge of Jon’s cluttered desk, whose face softened from where he sat. It was an odd expression on him, considering how rare it was. Not that Martin was complaining. Jon seemed tired, unbelievably so, but the stress that was always engraved into his features had eased. The way Jon looked at the tea, then up at Martin, was almost tender. Martin tried not to let it get to his head. Tried not to think about whether or not that expression was because of him.

“Thank you, Martin,” Jon said. He took the mug and inhaled the steam, and Martin released a breath he didn’t know he had been holding.

“You’re welcome.” Martin used his newly freed hand to fidget with the hem of his jumper. “Are you positive you’re going to be okay for tomorrow?”

Jon scoffed. “I’ll be fine, Martin.” Martin’s worried face must have been more intense than he intended, because Jon winced, and added, “I, I know I can’t promise anything? I, ah, don’t think I can be any more prepared, though.”

“Right. Got it.” Martin shifted his weight between his two feet, as if they should be walking somewhere.

Jon pursed his lips for a beat before speaking again. “And you?”

Martin let out a wry laugh. “Surprisingly, I don’t think setting things on fire is going to be as dangerous as what you’re doing.” Jon gave a tired smile at this. It made Martin’s heart do something funny in his chest. “I’ll be fine, though.”

Jon nodded. “I wish you the best of luck, of course.”

“You too. Try not to worry about me. Just, um, just do what you need to do. Whatever that is.”

For a moment, Jon’s expression became grim. Was there something else he wanted to say? As much as Martin hated to admit it, he had never perfected the art of reading people. With Jon, it was easier, but even then, he was sometimes unpredictable.

“Right,” Jon murmured. He cleared his throat. Adjusted in his seat, tea still in hand. “You should probably go home, Martin. Get some rest.”

“As if I’ll be able to sleep.”

“Oh, I know how that feels.” For once, Jon laughed, or at least, the closest thing he got to one these days. “Still. It’s, uh, best you take whatever you can get, I suppose. Thank you again for the tea.”

“Of course.” Martin gave a tight-lipped smile. “I’ll probably just finish my cuppa and then head home. You should try to sleep, too. If that’s even something you do anymore.”

“We’ll see.” Jon traced his fingers along the ceramic as worry knitted itself back into his brow. He stared off towards the floor, but seemed to be gazing far beyond that. Martin wondered if he should say something, but what else was there to be said?

“See you soon, I suppose,” Martin said. “Hopefully, at least.”

Jon only nodded again. Martin made his way to the door. Just as he stepped out, however, he was startled by the clattering sounds of Jon rising to his feet.

“Martin, wait.”

For a second, time froze, along with every vital organ in Martin’s body. He dared to turn around and face Jon again, who had a new emotion written on his face. Fear? Desperation?

“Yes?” Martin asked.

“There’s—” Jon hesitated. “There’s something else.”

“Oh.” Martin’s heart dropped into his stomach. “What, um, what is it?”

“It’s—could you close the door, please?”

Martin obliged. He tried his best to ignore the pounding in his ears as he did so.

“What do you need, Jon?” he asked, as he often found himself doing.

“It’s not—” Jon huffed, his nostrils flaring. “I know.”

Martin waited a few seconds for him to continue, but the silence only stretched out. “Okay,” Martin said slowly, as if one misplaced word would burn his tongue. “Know what, exactly?”

“About how you feel.” Martin could feel the Earth shatter beneath his feet. It must have shown on his face because Jon rushed to continue. “Not Know, I, I promise I didn’t use my abilities on you. Well, not intentionally. There was a tape, though, of Melanie and Basira talking. It was just petty office gossip, but they were talking about how you felt towards me. Everything else started clicking into place after that, I think.”

“Oh,” was all that managed to slip from Martin’s mouth at first. Then, his eyes went wide as the reality of the situation hit him with its full weight. “ _Oh_.” He almost dropped his mug as panic seized his lungs. “I’m so sorry, Jon. I didn’t mean for this to—”

“No, Martin, wait—”

“And you were never supposed to know, and, oh no, this must be so uncomfortable for you—”

“That’s not what I’m saying. I—”

“You know what? I should probably get going. I’m so sorry you—”

“Goddammit, Martin— _I feel something too_.”

The world stopped spinning, then. Martin’s hand was on the door handle. Jon’s hand was on Martin’s arm. Martin couldn’t recall when Jon had walked out from behind his desk to meet Martin at the door. He must have been too lost in his own thoughts and fears to notice. Martin was more present now than he had ever been, though. The two of them stared into each other’s eyes. For a moment, that was all they did, neither of them daring to do so much as breathe.

It was Martin who broke the thick silence. “What?” It came out as a weak whisper, so pathetic he might cry.

Jon worried his bottom lip. “I don’t know what to call it yet,” he said, his voice harboring a new tone Martin had never heard before. It was gentle and somehow afraid at the same time. Somewhere, deep in Martin’s chest, he could feel the shards of his heart stabbing into him.

“I feel it, though,” Jon continued. “I tried to ignore it for so long. I thought if I put all that energy into—well, into being an asshole, let’s be frank, it would go away. Then, however, I, ah, started to learn more about you, and I started to trust you. It’s terrifying, I think? It’s so _heavy_ , though, like a medicine ball in my chest. I never had any clue what it meant until I heard that tape. I think I’m starting to understand it, though.”

Martin’s heart was pounding against his ribcage. He was sure he would wake up from this dream any second now, but Jon’s hand on his arm felt so real. Jon’s face, as well, was the most vulnerable he had ever looked, more so than Martin could conjure up even in his most romantic fantasies. If Martin examined it for too long, he might actually start sobbing right then and there.

“Jon?” he said, his voice still only a whisper.

“Martin.” Jon’s voice shook as if his response meant anything at all. (Somehow, it did.)

Their faces were close enough that Martin could feel Jon’s shallow breaths. In spite of himself, Martin laughed. “It’s like we’re about to kiss or something.”

It was meant to be a joke, but Jon didn’t laugh. “We could.” His eyes flickered down to Martin’s lips. “If you want to.”

Martin’s breath caught in his throat. He could have died, right then, and maybe he would have died a happy man.

The longest second of Martin’s life. Then, before he could talk himself down, he leaned down and brushed his lips against Jon’s. It was so brief, it was almost nothing, but it felt like everything. He pulled back briefly, only by a few centimeters, to look into Jon’s eyes. They were so full of emotion that Martin was too afraid to name, and okay, maybe Martin really was going to cry now. This wasn’t another daydream, was it? No, this was so real, it physically hurt him.

None of that mattered because another beat and then Jon had crashed his lips against Martin’s. Thankfully, there was a short bookshelf by Jon’s office door for Martin to set his tea. Jon’s hands formed fists as they grasped the back of Martin’s jumper, while Martin’s began to cradle Jon’s face. Every time they seemed to drift apart, they quickly drew back into each other, with tender kisses trailing one after another. Jon’s lips were chapped and rough, yet they were like heaven on Martin’s own. It sent a warm sort of electricity through every nerve Martin had. In that moment, nothing else was real. No fear entities, no pending apocalypse, no dying parents. All that existed was the two of them, in this space, kissing as if it was newfound oxygen after drowning for so long.

Speaking of air, they, unfortunately, both needed it, and were eventually forced to pull away. They stayed with their faces close, however, as both attempted to regain their breath.

“Martin,” Jon breathed more than said. The name held a new weight coming off his tongue.

“Jon, what does this mean?” Martin’s voice cracked as he spoke. As much as he didn’t want to ruin this fragile moment, he had to know. If it had just been one passionate kiss, then he would rather let his heart be broken now.

“I don’t know yet?” Jon’s grip on Martin’s jumper tightened. “If I—if we survive tomorrow, if there is even anything left after tomorrow…” He trailed off.

Martin’s eyes fluttered open to find Jon’s fixated on the floor.

“We’ll talk?” Martin said.

“We’ll talk. I promise.” Just as Martin opened his mouth, Jon added, “I know what I said about promises, but I mean it. If we both survive tomorrow, we’ll figure out what this means.”

“Right.” Martin nodded. “Right, okay.” He reluctantly removed his hands from Jon’s face, who frowned before pulling away as well.

“I should get going,” Martin murmured. Jon hummed with a disappointed sort of agreement.

“Stay safe,” Jon said. His eyes flickered down to the tea on the shelf, where Martin had just been looking as well. “Leave your cup. I’ll take care of it. I believe it’s gone cold, anyways.”

“You too, and thanks.”

“Of course.”

Martin opened the office door for the second time that night. Just before he left, he paused. “Jon? Don’t do anything stupid.”

“Now _that_ I can’t promise.”

They both smiled up to their eyes for the first time in what must have been years. Then, Martin was gone into the night, the cold air biting at where Jon had touched him.

They were gonna talk soon. Jon promised, after all. Martin would cling onto those words like a lifeline for the rest of the night. He was still terrified, of course, but there was another feeling there that overpowered it all. It was too soon to put a name on it.

**Author's Note:**

> not shown: martin having to sit and think about this convo while jon was in a coma :)  
> anyways, this is purely self-indulgent fluff because a homie is going thru it. the title is from "atlas hands" by benjamin francis leftwich.  
> i hope you enjoyed reading !! kudos and comments are always appreciated.  
> and if you want more tma content, i also have a discord au up if you like chatfics ;))


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